Джорджетт Хейер - Why Shoot a Butler

Into these psychic realms neither Corkran nor Amberley could follow her, yet each of them had felt the tension that preyed so much on her spirits. In Corkran's opinion it was not the house which was at fault, but its inmates, by which he meant the master and the valet. Joan shook her head; perhaps she and Basil had never had much in common, but until they came to the manor there had never been such friction as now existed. The manor had had its effect on him as well as on her. As for the valet… She gave a shiver and was silent.

Upon hearing the row in full swing in Fountain's study that morning Anthony had cherished hopes of the valet's departure. What had passed between them was not known, but Joan thought Collins was objecting to his extra duties. They had heard Fountain's voice raised angrily, and later they had seen Collins come out of the study with his mouth shut in a hard, thin line, but although Fountain had said that the valet was becoming insufferable, and by God, he had a good mind to sack him, nothing had been done. Instead, Fountain had gone up to town to interview a prospective butler.

It was proving as difficult as he had feared to fill Dawson's place. The only candidates who had so far applied for the post were quite ineligible, while the few suitable men whose names had been sent to Fountain by Finch's Registry Office did not care to come to a house which was situated seven miles from the nearest town and nearly two from the main road. However, the registry office had rung up at teatime the previous day to inform Fountain that a fresh applicant had appeared, who did not seem to mind the manor's out-of-the-way position. He had gone up to interview the man, and if he, like the rest, was no good, he was going to insert an advertisement in the Morning Post.

It seemed a good moment, to Joan, since Fountain would not be at home, to invite Felicity and Amberley to tea at the manor. Felicity accepted, but Mr. Amberley had a previous engagement. Pressed, he was irritatingly evasive. Felicity excused him to her friend on the score that he was probably going to hunt for clues.

Joan had not known that he was taking anything more than an ordinary interest in the murder case. She seemed pleased and asked shyly whether he thought he would be able to solve the problem.

"I think so," he answered with unusual gentleness.

"I'm glad," she said simply. "I know it is worrying Basil. It's upset him very much. It almost seems to haunt him."

When Amberley set out shortly before four in the afternoon to keep his "previous engagement', he took the road into Upper Nettlefold and bore straight through the town in the direction of Ivy Cottage.

The road was a continuation of the High Street, which ran southwards out of the town past a row of new cottages. The houses soon came to an end. The road bent to the west and ran along for a few hundred yards beside the river Nettle. Then the river took a curve to the left and the lane leading to Ivy Cottage came into sight, cutting up beside some undulating pasture-land.

Mr. Amberley had just reached the foot of the lane and had slowed down for the turn when he heard himself hailed. He stopped, and saw the burly form of Sergeant Gubbins mounted on a bicycle and pedalling strenuously towards him.

Amberley drew into the side of the road and switched off his engine. "Well, Sergeant?" he said.

The sergeant got off his bicycle, puffing, and remarked that it was a warm day. Mr. Amberley agreed.

The sergeant shook his head a little sadly. "I hoped you might run into the station this morning, sir. I saw the chief constable yesterday."

"Coincidence," said Mr. Amberley. "So did L'

The sergeant fixed him with a reproachful eye. "When he told me what had been said up at Greythorne - well, what I feel is, it ain't like you, Mr. Amberley."

"What isn't?"

"The way you're treating this case. Not like you at all, it isn't. Because me knowing you as I do I've got a feeling you're keeping things up your sleeve. Now that's a thing I wouldn't have believed of you, sir. Then there's what you said to me the other day, after the inquest. Not that I set any store by that at the time, me knowing that you're apt to get humorous in your way of talking. But when the colonel happened to mention your saying to him how you didn't know that you wanted to work for the police that made me very surprised. Because putting two and two together, and calling to mind that very same remark which you passed to me, it does seem to look as though you meant it, which is a thing I wouldn't have believed."

"Sorry," said Mr. Amberley.

The sergeant said severely: "Of course I know you go against the law a lot in the way of business…'

"What?"

"Getting off them as ought to be at Dartmoor," said the sergeant. "Often and often you've done that, but as I say, that's in the way of business and fair enough. But it's putting ideas into your head, sir, that's what it is."

"Look here!" said Mr. Amberley. "Just what are you driving at?"

"You're not acting straight by us, begging your pardon, sir," said the sergeant doggedly. "Keeping things back. You haven't given us anything to go on, and it's as plain as a pikestaff you've got your suspicions."

"Is it? I'm sorry to hear it. Don't hustle me, Sergeant."

The sergeant eyed him speculatively and perceived suddenly that Mr. Amberley's attention had wandered. He was looking past the sergeant to the gate of Ivy Cottage, which was just visible up the lane. The sergeant was about to turn round to see what was interesting him so much when he was stopped.

"Don't turn round, Sergeant," Amberley said quietly.

The sergeant was immediately possessed by an almost uncontrollable desire just to glance over his shoulder, but he managed to check it. "What have you seen, sir?"

Amberley was no longer looking up the lane. A minute ago the wicket-gate had opened, a man had slipped out, and cast rather a furtive look to left and right. When he saw the car at the bottom of the lane, with its owner apparently deep in conversation with Sergeant Gubbins, he had turned abruptly and walked away, up the lane.

"Very interesting," said Mr. Amberley slowly. "And what, Sergeant, do we make of that?"

The sergeant swelled with indignation. "A fat lot of chance I have of making anything of it, haven't I, sir? "Don't turn round," you say, and then ask me what I make of it!"

Mr. Amberley was stroking his chin meditatively. "It looks as though I'm not so far out," he said.

"Does it, sir?" said the sergeant in considerable dudgeon. "Well, isn't that nice? P'raps if I'm patient you'll see fit to tell me what you've seen."

"A man, Sergeant. Just a man."

"You do sometimes," agreed the sergeant, heavily sarcastic. "I can see a couple now. Young Thomas and Mr. Fairleigh they are. You wait, sir, and you'll see them too."

"An ordinary, respectable personage," mused Mr. Amberley. "Yet he wasn't pleased to see us here. Where does that lane lead to, Gubbins?"

"Fawcett's farm," said the sergeant shortly. "Nothing else?"

"It stops there."

"Ah!" said Mr. Amberley. "Do you think our friend Collins can really have business at Fawcett's farm?"

The sergeant was interested. "Collins? Was it him, sir?"

"It was, Sergeant. He's been calling at Ivy Cottage."

"That's funny," said the sergeant. "What would he want there? Gone off to Fawcett's, has he? Then he'll cut across the fields. There's a right-of-way. Now I come to think of it, we don't know much about these Browns. The young fellow's in the Blue Dragon most nights. Drinks himself silly, that's what he does. But what does he want with a valet?"

"I wonder," said Mr. Amberley.

"Yes, sir, I've no doubt you do, and if I was sure you didn't do more than wonder… What might you have been meaning when you said what you did just now, about it looking as though you weren't so far out?"